


Bitten, Bruised, Lost

by Percygranger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Canon Compliant, Dark Bingo 2014, Gen, Introspection, Loss of Limbs, Werewolves, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Percygranger/pseuds/Percygranger
Summary: Character studies in miniature: Jackson's unique take on being bitten.(Originally written in 2014 for Dark Bingo on LJ)
Kudos: 5





	Bitten, Bruised, Lost

**Fresh Bite**

Jackson grit his teeth, the groan that wanted out escaping as a short grunt. Derek didn’t move, teeth burning, digging into Jackson’s side, stubble scraping the skin of his abdomen. Far too aware of how vulnerable he was, Jackson breathed shallowly. The pain ratched up with every movement. He’d taken his shirt off and sat down on a seat made of a crate against the wall. Maybe he could kick Derek away, but not without losing a chunk of himself. 

But he didn’t want to kick Derek away. Derek was giving him a gift. Being a werewolf meant he could beat Scott again, be the best. 

_ Unless I die. _

Jackson pushed the thought away firmly, focusing on his desire for it, his belief that he was worthy and able of taking whatever he had to. 

He would be the best.

Derek finally let go, the blood around his mouth making the fangs and eyes even more disturbing. Finding a towel, he shifted back and wiped his mouth.

Jackson looked down. The bite mark was a clear semicircle, welling with blood. He touched it and winced, then tried to get up. He ended up using the wall for support, gasping. 

Derek watched steadily, offering no help. “You should leave now.”

“Yeah.” Jackson said, grimacing as he took a bandage out of his pocket and taped it on. Putting on his shirt was a painful affair, but he managed it.

He strode towards the door, refusing to look at Derek, see his derision at Jackson’s human weakness. That would change soon.

He’d show them just what a real werewolf could do.

**Bruises**

Jackson slammed a shoulder against the wall, hard enough to bruise. Clicking the stopwatch, he pulled up his sleeve. The mark formed and faded in less than two minutes. 

This new almost-invulnerability was exciting. He was faster, stronger, he’d heal from an injury on the field, and probably never have to worry about a career-ending one. But, it would create suspicion with anyone in the know. There had to be more hunters out there, although maybe pro sports would have less competition and monitoring. He’d just have to wear anti-glare contacts. (Derek had never mentioned that going on camera was a problem.) Overall it was good, in a general survival and quality of life sense, but he had a feeling relying on it too much would get him killed. 

Wolfsbane, mountain ash, electricity, photographs, lack of control, and overconfidence, these were his weaknesses now. Not a list Jackson had thought he’d ever need to assemble. You had to know your weaknesses to overcome them, though.

Accepting an alpha, a pack? That was another kettle of fish entirely. Obviously omegas could live by themselves. Jackson didn’t find any of his current options acceptable. Derek as alpha? Jackson would almost prefer being a kanima. Scott, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd as…packmates? Not anything he wanted a part of. And the thought of killing Derek made him a weird mixture of sick and eager. He could feel the wolf inside reaching for more power, but he’d never wanted to hurt anyone permanently up ‘til now. Beat them on the field, yes. Kill them? No. 

Jackson grimaced, and forced out the claws on one hand, then swiped them over the top of his thigh, near his knee. Hissed at the pain. Clicked the stopwatch again. Five minutes for more seriously broken skin. 

Burns, broken bones, internal injuries. Those Jackson couldn’t do on his own. He was sure Derek would oblige, but, oddly enough, Jackson didn’t really feel like it. 

He wiped off the blood and headed back inside. 

At least he’d always liked his meat rare.

**Loss of Limb**

Jackson didn’t remember much of his time as a scaly green lizard monster with paralytic saliva and, apparently, a freaking tail. 

His wolf form did, though. Early on into his shifting practice (Jackson figured turning into a wolf monster was similar enough to drilling lacrosse throws to apply the same principles and terms: repetition, consideration, improvement) he’d catch himself, his body, leaning forward, compensating for a limb that wasn’t there. He’d mentally lash his tail, and then realize he didn’t have one. Had never had one. Except he had? 

He wasn’t sure how to deal with the confusion, so he blocked it off, and trained his body out of the habits it had learned while he wasn’t there.


End file.
